What Could Have Been
by Temptation's Prophetess
Summary: Thirty-nine times they weren't enemies, they weren't friends, and nor were they lovers. But they were...something. Thirty-nine times things could have been different. Thirty-nine oneshots of Sarah and Jareth. SxJ
1. Not Long At All

AN:My first attempt at Labyrith FanFiction. Thsi came to me at midnight last night, so it might have some parts that don't make sense. It's a story fragment, so there is nothing that happens before, although this is the end. Use your imagination. Oh, and let me know what you think about it, 'cause I don't know if its all that well written. Thanks!

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**Not Long At All**

Once again the he faces her. After all these years, they are back, standing in the remains of the broken Escher room as though no time has passed.

"I need you Sarah," the Goblin King states, looking her right in the eyes. "Forever. I cannot live without you."

They are not the words he once used, words spoken what feels like an age ago, though it has only been three years. Those words were to plead with a girl poised on the brink of womanhood. But he's not pleading anymore, and no girl stands before him. A woman has grown to stand in her place.

She looks in his eyes, and sees the truth there. They demand nothing less than forever, and promise in return to fill it with valentine evenings and mornings of gold: a forever of his love. She smiles. She knows the answer she will give. She has felt it in every pulse of her blood since she last left him here. Her heart has sung it for as long as she can remember; her breath has painted it on the very air, the words aching to burst from her chest. And her eyes, those cruel, cruel eyes have told of it from the moment she first saw him. So, taking a deep breath, she says her right words.

"No."

At this, all the fight leaves him. His face loses the glow of hope that has sustained him, burning fragilely within him since her last refusal, refusing to extinguish itself should she ever say yes. But he knows that, now she has twice rejected him, he is unable to offer again. He would not live through it if she were to say no again. For all his power, he is completely defenseless against her. And though he would beg, if it meant she would have him, he knows now she will not. He had dreamed that once she grew she would understand what he was offering, what he had given her that he could not, would not take back because, as surely as it beat, it belonged solely to her. And she was tearing it to pieces. She speaks again, interrupting his reverie.

"I want eternity Jareth. Forever's not long enough."

There is a flash of sparkles, and then she is encircled in his arms. His mouth descends on hers, his warmth enveloping her. His lips, searingly hot, plunder hers; demanding nothing less than total surrender. Instead, she kisses him back just as passionately, her hands fisting themselves in his hair and pulling herself up for better reach. Their kiss seems to last for several sunlit days. The universe could have blown up, spat out a few new galaxies and cooled, and they would not have moved but to pull each other closer. At last, they break apart, breathing raggedly. She presses her face to his chest, trying to cool her flaming cheeks.

"Eternity, if that is your wish my precious thing," he whispers into her hair. He had been so scared that he was going to lose her, that he would be banished forever from her life. After all, this had been his last chance. He'd taken it and lost, but her offer he can and does accept. Because she's right, he realizes. Eternity is _much_ longer than forever, and he wants all the time in the world with his green-eyed nymph. He never wants to leave her side again.

"After all, my Sarah," he murmurs, loving the sound of the words as they leave his mouth. "Forever is not long at all."


	2. Power Play

**A/N: **Yet another fragment...enjoy!**

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**Power Play**

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered," she begins, invoking words older than the earth itself, powers that have existed since the universe was born. "I have fought my way here, to the castle beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child that you have stolen–"

"Sarah," he implores, begging her not to do this. "Look at what I'm offering you!" His eyes speak the words he cannot say, the words he wishes to say, the words that for survival's sake he _must_ say. He cannot live without her. He cannot even live within her. But these words he cannot say, because she has to figure them out for herself. He is bound by her words, but she is not. And so he hopes she is looking, because thus far his other hints have been ignored.

"For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great," 'you have no power over me.' The remaining words echo in her head, each one falling to rest like a lead weight in her stomach. This is it. This is where she says the words that will make her choice. The king, or the baby. She can't have them both. She sees his eyes, and her decision trembles. She thinks of Toby, and it openly wobbles. "And my kingdom as great – Damn! I can never remember that line!"

She is stalling, she knows. These words have been embedded in her mind for as long as she can remember. She just needs to choose: the king or the baby…there's really no competition, she knows. Her decision has fallen, tumbling end over end, as a coin. It has landed, and so she says the words that will end this. "I give you every power over me."

Her words complete the spell, and he flicks his wrist. Just like that, his arms are around her. He holds a crystal in front of her face, and looking into it, she sees Toby, sitting back in his crib Aboveground. Grinning, she looks up into his face.

"I chose." She says simply. Nothing more is needed. Sealing the deal with a heart-stopping, breath-missing kiss, the King and his Queen transport out of the broken Escher room. From the beginning, they knew she would loose the baby. But what she has won was worth the loss.


	3. Unrequited

**A/N:** And here is yet ANOTHER fragment. Enjoy, and as always, please R and R!**

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**Unrequited**

Unrequited love is a sickly, festering thing. If left unchecked, unreturned, unacknowledged, or unsuppressed, it simmers inside a person, and the love they feel clouds with hate and anger, an illogical rage that their love is undesired. It fills one with the sick, perverse need to hurt the once loved one. To slap them, shake them, scream at them, anything to force them to _see_.

It has been so since time began, and is so with them.

* * *

He loves her: this is true, as true as the stars that shine in the heavens. But she doesn't love him. It is in every motion she makes, every word she says, and every defiant stare she gives him. And with her every denying, arguing word, he wants to strike her down and show her just who she is dealing with.

And sometimes he does.

A yellowing print wraps around her wrist, a memento of an old argument. The angry handprint, however, is fresh. It sprawls across her face, the palm resting just below her eye, the thumb outstretched on her nose, a livid navy. He hadn't meant to. He really hadn't! She just made him so_ angry_, and…well…he had hit her.

She has already broken through his carefully placed defenses. He cannot give his love to her, as others might do. They never had to worry about looking weak. And make no mistake, loving her is a weakness, and one she would use against him, should she ever learn of it. And she would break him with those beautiful, cruel eyes that seek only to win, never to love. He refuses to be broken.

He loves her. But she doesn't love him. And this fact makes him unspeakably heartbroken.

If only he knew.

* * *

It is so easy for the evil in this world to say 'Hate them, hate them all. Hate them because they wronged you, and you did nothing. Kill them, slay them, _hate them_ because you are right and they are wrong. Hate them because they have committed unspeakable atrocities against you, and you have done _nothing_ to them.'

But she cannot.

Because she know that for every bruise he has ever given her, for every glare he has leveled in her direction, every angry word he has thrown at her that he now regrets, she has returned. Perhaps a thousand times over.

She rails at him until her voice is hoarse. Her reasons and words vary: one day it is that she sees through the comfortable, safe tower he has given her to the gilded cage that it really is. Some days, she rails at him in an attempt to delude herself into hating him. it doesn't work. Most days, however, she yells and screams to mask her burning, inexhaustible, _terrifying_ love for him, because of all the power he would gain over her should he learn of it.  
Yes, it's true. She loves him. Sometimes, the fierceness of that love is so strong it seems as through she could face down entire armies all alone, just to protect him. And yet against he himself, she is absolutely powerless, lain wide open with just one look from him. It never fails to terrify her.

He has already caged her body. She cannot give her love to him, announce it in the way people in movies and books do so easily. They never had to worry about cages, about possessive Goblin Kings who wish only to possess, never to love. Because if she proclaims her love, as she so dearly wants to, beyond all reason, then he would know he holds her soul, and she would be breakable. And her will is the one thing she is resolved he will _never_ break.

She loves him. But he doesn't love her. And this fact makes her unbearably hopeless.

If only she knew.


	4. Love Letter

**A/N:** A warning to those who cry easily - I bawled my eyes out while writing this. This is terribly sad.

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**Love Letter**

My Dearest Sarah,

I love you. I have always loved you, and will always love you: this is why you must leave. I will love you as the world falls down, as the sun burns, and as all other life is extinguished. I will love you until the end of time and beyond. But as for you?

When your dark hair becomes streaked with grey, your beautiful skin sags, and your fiery eyes dull – when your bones begin to ache, and you become wise with the strange, bitter wisdom that is mortality, will you still love me? I, who will never change, and you who will die? Will you love me when you die, and I do not?

For I will never die. It is the curse of what I am, cursed to see death time and time again and know that I can never achieve it, that I can never follow you – because I am not _human._ And it is for this reason that I let you go. I will not – can not – keep you, for I love you far too much to ever make you stay. To make you wither away while I cannot.

Precious thing, you have bewitched me so thoroughly that your needs now take precedence over everything. I refuse to let you stay because you deserve someone who can follow after you in death. Someone who can devote his every breath, living and dying to you. And though I would dearly like to find and murder this _'someone'_ who is not me, for merely being in a sentence with you, I will not. Once again, your happiness takes precedence.

So I am forcing you to leave me, though it feels as though it will kill me. Though you do not know it, I am not good for you. Because you _will_ die, and I will not be able to save you. But know this, precious thing: when you die, I will try my hardest to follow. I may never be successful, but I can't not _try. _I cannot exist in this world without you.

And even when your feelings change, and you come to hate me for this, I will stand resolute. You will never see me again, precious thing. I will not burden you with my presence. So live, my Sarah, and try to forget me. Not because I want you to – Gods, how I want you to remember! – but because it will help you move on. Do not dwell on our time together – please, please try to forget. Move on, live, love, do all these things without me. Be mortal, as you are, and please, try to forget.

Goodbye, my dearest Sarah. I will always love you.

Jareth

* * *

Pale, shaking hands put down a letter stained with tears, both dry and fresh. The world blurs as green eyes cloud with tears. Shuddering, uneven sobs wrack a small, thin frame. Unseen, mismatched eyes close on a desolate gaze, and unheard, a mouth chokes "Why won't you _forget?"_


	5. Surrender

**Surrender**

Strange that it should end this way, for they are equally matched –

He decided he could no longer bear living in this world without her. She rejected him, and so he had _no power _over her. He could not have exacted revenge, even if he wanted to – he couldn't even talk to her, touch her. So he waits outside her window, hoping that one day, she will open it.

She never does. Every time she sees him, her heart aches. She will not open the window, knowing as she does that from that point on there will be no going back. She is scared, as she freely admits.

The crystal he gave her sits on her desk innocently. Though it looks like any ordinary piece of glasswork from afar, it has a glowing sheen about it that is decidedly otherworldly. In the ruins of his castle, he had tossed it to her, and she had caught it. As space and time bent – taking her back ten hours to her living room, a time and place before he had entered her life and turned her world on its axis – it had stayed with her. She had never let go of it.

But the crystal is anything but innocent. On nights when she lies awake, tormented by memories she does not want and decisions she cannot change, it calls to her. _Come away with me_ it calls. _Come away with me and you will live forever. My precious thing, I miss you._

It's _his_ voice murmuring the words, at once exquisitely seductive and poignantly sad. And it's _his_ eyes she sees, every time she glances at it.

It is on a night when the rain thunders at her window, the winds screaming to be let in, that she finally breaks. She is tired of this stand-off, no longer willing to be afraid. Rising from her warm bed, she puts on a thick sweater and sneakers over pajamas in the blackness of her room. She knows with a clarity that is more than all others that she will never return here, to this room filled with childish memories, to this house filled with broken promises. She writes a short letter to her father, explaining that she is going, and asking him not to look for her, his efforts will be in vain. Then, in the dark of the night she exits the house, crystal clutched tightly in her hand.

The owl follows her.

As she walks, the rains seem to calm. The downpour, which before was a tempest, is now simply rain. Reaching the park, she makes her way to the clearing she practiced in months ago. Dawn is breaking, she notes from the faint light through the clouds, and so she stands in the middle of the clearing, crystal in hand. She knows what she must do.

There is a moment of perfect stillness when the crystal breaks, as if the world is holding its breath. The rain stops, and the wind dies. For that brief moment, she is the epicenter of the universe. Then the wind picks up again, and with a sad smile, she scatters glistening shards to the four winds. The owl swoops in to land on her shoulder, and she pets it on the head, it nuzzling into her hand. Bit by bit as the sun rises, brilliant gold shedding light on a solitary, resolute figure and a snowyb owl, they fade into the Underground, only sparkling crystal shards left behind as proof they ever existed.

– Strange that their story should end with their surrender.


	6. Impasse No Longer

**A/N:** Takes place the morning after Sarah defeats the Labyrinth. Enjoy!

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**Impasse No Longer**

It has been less than twelve hours since last he saw her, and yet he craves her still. Sitting on her bed, under a cloak of darkness lit only by the tentative fingers of sunrise creeping over the horizon and into her room, the Goblin King brushes onyx hair from her alabaster cheeks and sighs.

They have reached an impasse, the two of them. Neither will give in.

Her brother decided both their fates ultimately. Sarah's decision hinged on the love she had for her brother, and the love – as yet unexplored – that she could have with him. He knew this. And even still, he chose to have the boy in plain sight! He had been so sure that she would accept him – he who had turned the world upside down for her, he who had re-ordered the stars. Who would not choose the man who would make her Queen over a squalling, snotty infant brother? Apparently, she would. One of the many things that made unlike all others. She was strong, and she was different. He knew this and still he underestimated her. But now – in the aftermath of her victory and triumphant party – it was clear that she was his equal in every way.

His hands – long, elegant hands, hands that, in another life would belong to a professional pianist – stroke the smooth, creamy column of her throat. She shivers. It would seem she fears him still, even as thoroughly ensconced in unconsciousness as she is. This is wise of her, and even as he grieves for her lack of trust in him, he commends her for it. She _should_ fear him – his powers being what they are. Her words and deeds – every defiant, enraging, goddamn _seductive_ tilt of her head – could get her killed.

He has many facets, but most see only the most frightening. The unforgiving, formidable warrior is the face he wears in front of those who are foolish enough or evil enough to wish away their young. The haughty, demanding monarch is shown to his subjects and underlings. As all other society deserted him long ago, he has been restricted to these intimidating personas. Then _she_ came along, with that fire in her emerald eyes, and that iron force of will hidden in her supple young mortal body. The seductive, amorous king he could be latched onto that in a heartbeat – he wanted her. Wet, warm and wanting. In his bed. Now. – And thus he discovered parts of himself he never knew existed. She seemed to strip him of all his pretences with a single glance, and leave him achingly raw. Suddenly, he was a gentle, caring lover, and a single word from her could break him. And Gods, how it scared him. And this weakness of his angered him, driving him to hurt her in order to conceal his fatal weakness. A king cannot be weak.

Her face moves towards him, aware of his presence even as she sleeps on. The sun has risen fully now, and though she slumbers deeply still, he know he must leave lest she wake. With one final, tender, _intimate_ caress, he stands. About to transform into an owl and fly, her sharp intake of breath stops him. The rustling of sheets catapults him into action. Quickly, he recedes into the remaining shadows of her room, hiding on the off-chance she has woken and might see him. Not that he does not wish to be with her, but he does not think he can handle a second rejection, not so soon. Her first still aches within his breath, and a second might kill them both: her death in his anger, and his broken heart and unwillingness to live without her.

"Jareth," she moans, and his eyes focus on her. Her back is arched, her body taught with, if he's not mistaken…anticipation – but anticipation of what?

She moans his name again, and her fingers search the sheets for another body. He marvels at the tantalizing picture she paints: her dark hair mussed, her cheeks flushed, glowing in the sunrise. Half dressed in a white t-shirt that is riding up, showing the tops of creamy thighs, she looks like an angel descended from the heavens for a tryst with a lover.

He frowns, not liking that train of thought. The only lover she is allowed to have is _him_ – but only when she is ready. He will not force her hand. Look how well that turned out the last time. But the question still remains: who is she dreaming about?

She moans his name again in her sleep, and whispers breathlessly "Don't stop." He smirks. That answers that. It would seem that Sarah _does_ dream of him, rejection notwithstanding. _Might as well give her something good to dream about,_ he thinks, and grins lasciviously.

Stepping silently towards the bed, he bends down to whisper in her ear.

"Sarah," he coos, his voice husky. "Do you have _any_ idea what I want to do to you? You've seduced me, you precious thing."

She moans again, and he nips her ear, his hot breath raising goose bumps on her ear. He trails kisses from her ear towards her mouth. He knows she is waking, and can't bring himself to care. She turns her head, and suddenly he's kissing her and he knows she still hates him and this doesn't change anything but he can't bring himself to care because _Gods_ she tastes so good and his hands are fisted in her hair and her arms are around him and her soft body is yielding to his and–

"Jareth," Her voice is breathless, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. She's awake now, but all he knows is that she's pulled away and she looks _so_ delectable. With an animalistic growl, he claims her mouth again in one fierce, punishing kiss. Then he breaks away, runs over to the window and throws himself out, transforming as he goes. The Goblin King flies away, not looking back.

Sarah sits up in the wreckage of sheets that was her bed, gasping for breath as she tries to calm her racing heart. Less than twelve hours ago, she defeated him and left his Labyrinth. But she craves him still.


	7. The Power of Dreams

**A/N:** Okay guys, this one has a lot of action in it. You'll see what I mean. Enjoy!**

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**The Power of Dreams**

The room is dark: lit only by a few candles, it is furnished with a heavy wooden canopy bed, sheeted with black silk. The canopy is draped in black silk as well, and the window curtains – drawn closed on the moonless night – are also black, but this a rich and heavy velvet. Crystals sit on every flat surface, refracting the little light and lending the room an illusory glamour. There is a clock on the wall; nothing unusual but for the time. The small hand points to the thirteen, and the large one rests underneath it: thirteen o'clock exactly.

The two figures on the bed are the only things that move. Their shadows, thrown on the far wall by the candles, wrestle tumultuously.

His long blond hair trails on her shoulders as he kneels on top of her, pinning her to the bed. Her green eyes stare up at him defiantly, daring him to move. Her lips are swollen with kisses, her hair a mess, flung across the pillows.

"Goblin King," she warns. He doesn't heed it.

In a split second, his lips are on hers again. His body covers her completely, touching but not crushing as he holds himself above her. She could free herself if she wanted to. She's had several chances already. She does not.

Their hands roam each other's bodies, pulling and tugging and touching and teasing, causing pleasure and torture.

For her part, she feels his hands brush her neck, her breasts, and her thighs. They rove her body with all the grace of a predatory cat, lazily conducting a thorough exploration of her body. She feels completely consumed by him – she never wants him to stop doing whatever he's doing, it feels so good. His body is rock hard, pressing her into the mattress firmly. His lips nip her neck, and he grazes his teeth along the line of her throat, kissing and sucking in a way that is sure to leave a mark. She loves it. She loves him. She wants more.

He, for his part is in heaven. He has wanted her since first he saw her, and finally she is his. She is not only allowing him to touch her, but reciprocating in kind, her hands exploring his chest and trailing through his hair. Her fingers are so marvelously small and wonderful on his skin. Her body is so soft and pliant against him. She smells of summer days and he never wants to be parted from her from this day forward. He loves it. He loves her. He never wants it to end.

Kissing and touching is no longer enough for them. It starts with her shirt: no longer satisfied with her curves through her clothes, he wants them off, impeding his access no longer. He quickly undoes the buttons and is rewarded with a view of her lacy bra. That too is soon gone. Then it's his turn: impatiently, she yanks his shirt off, wrenching the laces that tie it together apart as she does so.

They explore and more clothes come off and the wall is awash with shadows: the fine gauze of his shirt, the harsh stiffness of her jeans, the sheets flying everywhere, the movements of the bed and the two on it, moving and moaning and sighing.

"Love me," he growls.

She moans his name, and then screams it as he touches her right _there_. "I–" she pants, never getting the rest of the words out.

And the candles flicker and the clock turns and turns and turns and time speeds and they're kissing and touching and holding and loving and almost there and then they're not anymore, because they've both vanished.

The room is still now, the sheets still rumpled and warm from the occupants. The candle flames have frozen, the clock has stopped. It will not move again until the dreamers return.

* * *

Jareth, panting and with thoroughly mussed hair, bolts upright in bed, awakened by knocking on his door. His clothes are discarded on the floor, and he is beyond frustrated, his dream of Sarah having been interrupted just as he was about to fulfill all his dreams and hers.

He growls under his breath and ignores the door, lying back in a futile attempt to return to his paradise. Even as a dream, Sarah had thoroughly captured his heart, and even a dream of her love was delicious. And yet...there is faint smell of something flowery and fresh – summery almost – infused with his sheets and on his body. He discards it as wishful thinking.

It was only a dream, after all.

* * *

Sarah, flushed and highly befuddled, wakes on the floor, having thrashed enough in her single bed that she fell off. Her breathing is still hard from her dream and her lips are swollen. Her clothes have somehow come off her and are strewn about the room. She's warm all over and _God_ she wants him.

Her neck aches, and she looks in the mirror.

There are several huge hickies coloring the pale skin there. She shrugs, purposefully discarding them as early bruises from her fall.

It was only a dream, after all.


	8. The Death of The King

**The Death of the King**

It has been years since last she called to him. Thirteen, to be exact. Surrounded by the pieces of his breaking Escher room, she had claimed her place as his equal – only to reject her rightful place as his Queen. In the same breath, she had revoked his ability to communicate with her. He could not go to her. He could not even look at her without the lens of one of his crystals between them.

He had not dreamed she'd say no. The possibility had never crossed his mind. And so he gave her the peach. That wonderful, drugged peach that brought her to him, and for a fleeting time she was his. As she swayed within his arms, he reveled at her closeness, and wished it would never end. He sang his soul for her, and he thought she'd understood–

But that was the ancient past now. It mattered not what happiness the peach brought him, but the deadly cost to her. The fatal cost. To eat the fruit of the Labyrinth meant that one was forever sealed to it. Bound to the earth by your own flesh, unable to leave for long without severe pain. It was gradual, but soon the blood of long dead plants would begin to call to you, pulling you back Underground. It was resistible, but only for so long. Some would last years, some only days. In essence, to eat of the Labyrinth was to become one of her denizens.

And he had doomed her to this fate without her consenting breath on his lips, without a thought for her choice in the matter.

When time and space shifted after her refusal, delivering the king back to his chambers and her Aboveground, he had not though of the repercussions of his actions. He had been too emotionally drained to do anything but lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling, eyes red-rimmed but tearless. After that, when he finally managed to haul his haggard, unwashed (but still incredibly fine) ass out of bed and restore the kingdom to a semblance of normal, his thoughts had been only of redemption, of the lingering hope that he could make this right, despite his disastrous beginning. But this was not to be.

Upon the discovery that he could not go to her – could not fix what he had so irredeemably broken – his walls shook with the force of the crystals he hurled at them, unable to shake his rage.

And then, exhausted, he had sunk back into his throne and watched her.

* * *

A week after her adventure, Sarah began to feel a tiredness she could not shake, not matter how much sleep she got. This soon grew into a bone deep weariness that crippled her most mornings, making getting out of bed a struggle. A lot of mornings, she said she was not hungry and didn't eat. The circles under her eyes were dark and bruise-like. So her doctors diagnosed her with insomnia, and prescribed her sleeping pills, ignoring her protests that she _did_ sleep, but that it just never seemed to be _enough._

* * *

An eternity away, Jareth shifted on his throne and frowned.

* * *

Two years later, Sarah's eating habits had dwindled. She averaged and apple a day – if that – and while that was certainly not enough, it was enough to keep her doctors slightly mollified and at bay. They simply prescribed her several nutrient-packed multivitamins and advised her to drink lots of water.

* * *

Jareth's grip on the crystal in his hand tightened, his gloved hands flexing in agitation. He closed his eyes and willed her organs to keep going with his magic.

* * *

A whopping five years after her defeat of the Labyrinth, Sarah fainted. It didn't last long, but it was enough for her doctors to swoop in. They diagnosed her with anorexia and delivered her to a rehab clinic.

* * *

From his throne Jareth growled, anger coursing through him. Anger at her doctors, chaining her to a medical facility that would do nothing but hurt her, and at Sarah, for her rejection and refusal of his help. But mostly at himself, for the dark circles under her eyes and the frailness in her limbs. Anger because it was all _his fault_, godammit! He breathed deeply, forcing his magic through her body, sustaining her.

* * *

Nearly ten years after that thirteen hour experience that changed her life forever, Sarah began to hallucinate. She saw plants stretching out of the ground to pull her down, and long buried things that would be best forgot coming to kidnap her. Her doctors – having already diagnosed her with unrelenting syncopal attacks – saw where this data chain was going. It seemed clear to them that Sarah Williams was a heavy substance abuser. Following this revelation, they admitted her to the top recovery facility in her town without so much as a breath test, so sure were they in their previous diagnoses. There, she would be unable to find drugs or to harm herself.

* * *

Jareth's hands slid down to cover his eyes, and he sighed. The dark circles under his eyes were building, and the guilt of her death – not as yet happened – was already weighing heavily on him. Straightening, he shoved the magic into her, pumping the life-giving power into her body. He would extend her life as long as possible.

* * *

Four months later, when her hallucinations did not cease, Sarah was taken out of rehab and put into a psychiatric ward. She stayed there for a month, during which time it was determined that nothing could be done for her, mentally speaking. So her doctors put her into the Intensive Care unit at the hospital and hoped for the best.

* * *

Jareth's hands convulsed on the crystal, shaking with the taxing effort of keeping her alive. By all rights, she should have been long dead. He was pale and unstable – keeping her alive was taking its toll on his power.

* * *

For the next two and a half years, Sarah did nothing but lie there and waste away. She was conscious and mostly coherent, except for the times when she yelled about the ground coming to 'get' her. But she had not the strength to move anywhere. Sometimes, if she coughed hard enough, one of her ribs would break. But that aside, she was just hovering. Not quite dead, and not quite alive. And then came the morning when she began to throw up blood.

* * *

Exactly twelve years, three hundred and sixty-four days, twenty-three hours, fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds since he had last been near her, he felt her soul tremble. He knew now with certainty that she was going. He couldn't sustain her any longer, but dammit if he wasn't going to try.

* * *

Sarah's lips were cracked and her voice rasping as she croaked his name. As her clock chimed out and the world spun around her, she whispered "I wish you would come to me," clearly as exactly thirteen years worth of resistance finally began to kill her.

Even separated as they were by an eon of time and a universe of space, he heard her call as clearly as if she was right beside him. He appeared to her in a heartbeat, standing silently as she labored to breathe.

She was so beautiful, he observed sadly. Even time and her illness had not robbed her of her beauty. Though her bones stuck out at sharp angles and her eyes were sunken into her head and there were dark circles gathered like storm clouds under her sockets and her pallor was dead pale and her hair was a hay nest, she was radiant, the eyes that looked out at him not dulled by sickness, her quick wit and charm still reaching out to him with that heady, intoxicating scent that was entirely her own. Even dressed as she was in hospital clothes, she looked like every inch the queen she should have been, the queen she now would never become.

Her arms reached out to him, a wordless plea. He answered it by taking her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he leaned against the headrest on her bed. He rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair.

"I'm dying, aren't I," she stated.

"Yes, you are," he answered. There was no room for second guesses now, and he simply rushed forward with what he had to say. "It's my fault. I gave you the peach, knowing full well it would bind you to the land, knowing that if you didn't stay you wouldn't survive. I just never thought you'd refuse me."

"I don't blame you," she admits in a soft voice. "I came to terms with my eventual death a long time ago. I'm ready to go. With you as an exception, I have to regrets."

"You regret me?" he asks, eyes welling with tears. He loves her so much, and she's dying and she hates him.

"It's not you I regret exactly," she murmurs. "It's more that I regret the choice I made in relation to you. I wish I'd said yes, and become your queen. I think I would have been happier, and I could have saved you all this pain. But I guess now we'll never know, will we?" she offers with a half-hearted smile.

His heart breaks just a little bit more, aching for what could have been. She would have been his, and he could have cherished her as she deserved. He would have given her everything, if it meant she was happy. And now he'll never get the chance. But there is one thing he can say, even if it won't make all this better.

"I–" he begins, and is cut off.

"From the moment I saw you, I knew I was never going to get you out of my head. I just wish I could have gotten over myself and apologized, instead of waiting for you to apologize to me. I was wrong. But I don't want any regrets now," she says, and breathes for a second as her insides roll.

He wants to interrupt, wants to scream to the rooftops that _he_ was wrong, not she, and reassure her that she will live. But he will not make a promise he cannot keep, even though he will try with all his might to help her cling to life.

"You told me from the start that what's said is said. So I'm saying this now, because I don't know if I'll get another chance." She takes a deep breath, preparing herself. "I love you, Jareth, Goblin King, beloved tormenter and holder of my soul. With these words I bind myself to you, now and forever. I freely give you my heart and will, to do what you want with them. I bequeath everything I am to you. I am yours until you no longer want me."

And then she kisses him, and his world shatters and rebuilds itself and shatters anew because she's in his arms and he finally has everything he's ever wanted and he's never going to let her go and he loves her too and he can't wait to tell her and–

Her body convulses against his own, her eyes rolling back in her head as earth-shattering tremors rack her body. And she can't see and she can't feel and she can't _breathe_ but she's okay because he knows and now she can leave this world with no regrets.

In the space of a millisecond, Sarah Williams' soul exits her body, leaving behind only an empty husk of the person she was. For the first time in thirteen years, she is not chained to anything.

The silence left in her wake is deafening, it's as if time has stopped. The king simply holds her body and cries, his tears falling in her hair like dewdrops. For the first time in a very long time, he is utterly without hope. She's gone, and he never got to tell her how much he loves her. How much he needs her.

Gathering her body in his arms, he takes her to the Labyrinth, where he builds and enormous tomb in the heart of his castle, at the center of his Labyrinth. He carves her inscription himself.

_Sarah Williams_

_The child who defied a king_

_The girl who would have been Queen_

_The woman who will live forever in our memories_

_The only love and sole bride of the king, now and forever_

_Beloved daughter, sister, wife and Queen_

_We will never forget_

Standing at the hole in the tomb where her body is to go, he stares at the precious cargo encircled gently in his arms. Her brushes her ebony hair from her ivory white cheeks, revealing her peacefully closed eyes as he does. He doesn't want leave her alone in there, doesn't want to commit her to the ground without someone there with her. In the thirteen years since last she called to him, he contemplated living without her. It's not an option anymore. He makes a split second decision.

* * *

The disappearance of their king remains to this day an unsolved mystery to the goblin population. Only the Labyrinth herself knows where he is, sleeping within her walls, finally at peace. It took her thirteen years of calling, but she finally got an answer and thus gave him his happily ever after.


	9. Post Mortum

**A/N:** I really don't know what's up with me lately, because I've just been writing more and more, shall we say, _heated_ FanFictions lately. But anyways, I hope you guys like it!**

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**Post Mortum**

Rain drizzles on a graveyard filled with mourners. Every single one stands shrouded in black, even the small blond boy playing in the grass.

He's too young to understand what is going on, too young to understand that he's lost his greatest protector and his only sibling. His parents – a haggard looking man sobbing heavily into his handkerchief, and a spotless blond woman in a crisp linen suit, her tearless expression looking out of place – stand beside him, not attempting to corral him into standing still. And so he plays on with his small toy truck, his newly three-year-old body leaving a small indent in the grass.

The casket they're lowering into the ground is mostly empty, populated only by the few treasured possessions of the one they are laying to rest: a bookend with a gnarled dwarf on it, a teddy bear, the possessions and 'imaginary' friends of a lonely girl. The one thing that doesn't belong is a statuette of a king. It gleams in the darkness, glitter lying softly on pale hair that stands on end, static and stubbornly defying the laws of gravity even in the damp.

A priest – solemn and stately in his robes – begins to speak. His words form background noise for the couple watching from a crystal.

_Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today_

Ensconced in an enormous white bed, they lie in a spacious room, a wide balcony giving them a view of a sun-drenched, sandy labyrinth. His pale hair trails over her shoulder, his arms curling possessively around her slim body.

"Jareth," she giggles "You're tickling me!"

She removes the hair on her bare shoulder, and spins to face him, turning her back on the glowing orb hanging in front of them. She twines her arms around him, working her fingers gently into his hair. Their bare chests brush, and the electricity that sparks there makes them both gasp. Though it happens every time their skin touches, they never get used to it. It is simply too marvelous for words.

They kiss, and the spark blossoms into a full-fledged fire. They fall back on the bed, lips still locked together. His hands roam her smooth, naked back, and hers gently caress his lightly muscled chest.

_to witness the burial of Sarah Williams, _

Things are really heating up, but she pulls away at the sound of her name. "Not fair, precious thing," he pouts playfully.

"Oh?" she questions lightly, tilting her head to the side in a way that makes him want to lick the curve there.

"Mmmh." He acquiesces, pulling her back down. He lays her out underneath him on the bed, gentle fingers spreading her dark hair across the pillow. It is the sole dark thing in the room, contrasting beautifully with the creamy white of the walls and sheets, the pale gold of his hair, and the exquisite creamy color of her skin. She is so beautiful that for a moment he pauses, drinking her in. Below him she is spread out on the bed, held there by his body, completely at his mercy. Her green eyes glint up at him challengingly.

He growls, and then his lips come down on hers fiercely, effectively stopping her from any escape attempt. She responds in kind quickly, her arms clasping around his neck and holding him to her.

_whose flesh we now commit to Earth _

Still he parts from her, sitting up.

Her breathing is decidedly heavy and her cheeks are flushed, yet still she moans "Not fair!"

"Basis for comparison, precious thing," he croons triumphantly, his hands playing with her hair. "And besides, turnabout is fair play."

He's listening to the priest again as he says this, absentmindedly twining her ebony locks around his fingers.

_Our beloved sister, daughter and step-daughter, granddaughter and friend, _

He growls at the priest's words. When she looks at him quizzically, he explains.

"He skipped several of your more important titles, precious thing, and in the process got your name wrong."

She could care less what those she's left behind title her, and she says so.

Again he growls, and bites her ear before whispering tenderly into it. She shivers. She _loves_ it when he does that.

"But _I_ care, precious thing," he murmurs. "I will not have them disrespect my Queen."

"Alright then," she challenges, her tone full of mischief "What would you have them name me?"

Immediately, he decides she's not breathless enough if she still has enough left to challenge him with. He lowers his head and kisses her thoroughly, stroking her sides as he does so.

"Well for starters," he says as he kisses a line up her neck, paying special homage to the curve he noticed earlier and ignoring her soft moans and gasps "I would name you Queen of Goblins, however moronic your subjects happen to be."

She moans louder as he finds a particularly tender spot, and he grins.

"Secondly, you are now imbued with power that will sustain you even as the world falls down, so I would also dub you Immortal, as I am." He nips her ear gently, then carries on past it to the delicate curve of her eyebrow.

"Thirdly, I proclaim you wife, mine to have and to hold until the end of days."

They have slowly moved from joking about titles and roles to a deadly serious establishing of position. He lays a hand on her flat stomach, savoring skin softer than silk, scented with something sweet and uniquely hers.

"I would also title you the bearer of my future children, mother to the heir of the Goblin Kingdom. And lastly," he murmurs as his lips kiss their way across her cheek, slowly moving towards her mouth "I pronounce you ruler of the will of your King, husband and lover, who will adore you beyond eternity, beyond the time when this world has dissolved into ashes and we are nothing more than dust in the wind."

He doesn't give her time to respond to his statement, he simply claims her lips in a kiss that is as tender as it is desperate, devouring her as she devours him.

_she will forever be remembered in our hearts as kind and caring, with a truly beautiful soul. _

They kiss and kiss and then they're doing other things – and they love and love until it feels as if the world really is falling down. And finally, she lies asleep in their bed, her hair strewn across the pillows and her body tangled in the mess of sheets they've made. He lies beside her and gently strokes her face, basking in the euphoria of being near her. He murmurs more titles to her gently.

"Queen of my heart, dearest one, my only lover and my sole love."

_As earth goes to earth, ashes must to ashes, and finally dust to dust. May she rest in peace._

He gently untangles the sheets from her legs and pulls them over them both, cuddling her close. "Rest with me Underground until the end of days, my beautiful Sarah, my amazing precious thing," he breathes into her hair "Rest with me until earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust: stay with me as the world falls down."

His eyes flutter closed as he falls into a peaceful sleep, his arms around her still.


	10. The Man and the Mask

**A/N: **A warning to those who dislike mysteries. Jareth's behaviour is never fully explained, but if you look at the title you may find a reason. Short, but I actually rather like this one. As always, R&R!

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**The Man and the Mask**

Each night, after he finished with her – bringing them both to ecstasy and back – he would simply clutch her to his chest and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. He told her she was a goddess in human form, and that she was clearly made for him. That the gods themselves must have made them to be as puzzle pieces, for they fit so well together. He murmured to her of her beauty, her radiant soul, of the stars that should bow at her feet. He would tell her of his passion for her, and place gentle kisses along the tender shell of her ear, murmuring apologies for any harms he had caused her as his hands tenderly caressed her body.

In these times, she remembered how easy it was to love and be loved by him, curled like a docile kitten into his chest. In these times she dared to believe he loved her and would protect her for all time. In these times, she allowed love for him to blossom within her heart, intertwining with her insides as a plant grows roots and sprouts.

She would fall asleep to his soothing voice, every time.

But on awakening, he was harsh. His words stung her and his hands lashed out at her, and he told her of how she disgusted him. He had said he could be cruel; he had warned her. Yet still she was unprepared for the wrath of the Goblin King. Each and every morning, she knew this was coming. But she could never stop it from cutting her fresh, breaking her heart as completely as it had the morning before, and the morning before that.

And later – after he had claimed her body again in a passion and fury that was animalistic and brutal – as he lay beside her, stroking her tenderly, she fell in love all over again.


	11. The Power of Dreams II

**A/N:** Okay guys, so this is a rating changer. It's not particularly graphic, as I was trying to be tasteful (not really sure I succeeded) and not cross the line into M, but a friend read it and said I had, so I'm listening to her advice and changing the rating. It's also the SEQUEL to the Power of Dreams, so basically you need to read that first. It's chapter seven if you haven't read it. Anyways, enjoy; and as always, R&R!**

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**The Power of Dreams II**

For the second time, the room jolts to life. Again, the candles flicker as the fire's shadow begins to move on the wall; as the sheet – frozen in mid-air from their last activities – flutters to the ground. They'd accomplished complete undress last time: her bra hangs on a canopy post, his gloves lie discarded, smoldering, in the fire.

And this time they're frustrated. Being unable to finish what was _very_ thoroughly begun last time has irritated them to no end since last they met here.

It begins with the slender, dark haired girl: they stand at a face-off until she leaps. Cat-like, she lands on top of him, pinning him to the bed with her weight. Of course, he is only too eager to show her who she's dealing with – in seconds, he's on top, his blond hair just brushing her shoulders as he straddles her on the black silk under-sheet. Her hair blends with it: only her creamy skin would be visible to one farther away then he is.

"Fear me," he states, staring down at her.

"In your dreams," she replies.

He lowers his torso to hers, whispering "We're already there," as he does so. He puts his full weight on her, pressing her down into the mattress as his hands begin to roam, the bare skin sending sparks up her spine as they go from shoulder to breast to thigh to _there_.

"Love me," he says, nipping her ear gently.

She doesn't answer but to pull him closer, claiming his mouth with hers. He's not completely satisfied, but moves to the next point on his agenda anyways.

"Do as I say," he breathes once his lips leave hers.

She says nothing for a moment, considering her options as she lies gasping underneath him. Finally, she grins and answers "Make me."

Interestingly enough, he grins too. "With pleasure," he replies, and reaches down to her hips, pulling them forward. She can feel his hardness now, pressing insistently against her core.

His hands caress her body fervently, making her moan as she moves against him. He leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses in a trail that leads slowly to her mouth, curling around her body. Finally, just as his lips are about to meet hers, he pleads once more, almost begging for her to give him complete control.

"Love me Sarah," He says in a velvety, persuasive voice, at once soft as harsh, together yet ragged.

By now, she is little more than a puddle beneath him; her limbs having been reduced to jelly by his clever fingers. And thus, she is completely willing to give to anything so long as he continues doing what he's doing. Her body aches for his touch.

"Yes," she gasps, and their mouths meet at last, sealing them together for all eternity.

This time, the candles don't flicker. The clock doesn't turn, and time doesn't speed. They move together fervently, their bodies fitting together as though they were meant for each other. And finally – as the ornate clock in the room's corner begins to toll out the thirteenth hour – they come together. Their joining is explosive, catapulting them through all the stars in the sky, past the moon and sun and finally, past the point of no return. They both scream as they hit the mark, the shock and permanence of their journey settling into their bones. There will never be another for either of them. No one else will ever do, no one else will ever measure up. They are tied together irrevocably now.

With a certainty he's never felt before, he knows now that she will have him. He will be her King, and when he wakes from this, his prophetic dream, he will find her, wherever she is, and take her back.

She knows now who it is she's been waiting for since birth. She also knows that this is no delusion of hers. The stunning clarity she sees him with, the angular plains of his face alternatively lit and shadowed where the flame light touches it – she could never imagine it. She doesn't know what he's done, and she doesn't care. Sleep is making her languid, she's forgotten what there is that is bad about this. Hazily, she curls into Jareth's chest, sighing like a contented kitten.

The pair on the bed lie together for a long time, cuddling and whispering to each other softly until they drift gently into sleep. And then they fade from sight.

The clock stops once more, and the candle flames are frozen. In the space between one second and another, the bed re-makes itself. The discarded clothes burst out of sight, scattering glitter across the floor as they disappear. When the two come again – _together_ – the room will give them a new dream.

* * *

Jareth wakes slowly, conscious only of a warm _something_ tangled around him, his hands fisted in something soft and silky.

_Rope?_ He thinks, bewildered and off track this early in the morning. His body feels heavy and slow, sated by last night's incredible dream.

_If only it was real…_he thinks regretfully, and inhales, contemplating facing the day without Sarah. That summery smell is back again, enveloping him with its dizzying aroma.

_Sarah,_ he thinks, and imagines her with him, as she was in his dreams.

The warm thing beneath him shifts, and he recognizes it for what it truly is. _What in the Underground is a woman doing in my bed? _he thinks. He's refused to see any woman since _her._ He inhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose with a graceful hand.

He's just about to rise and get rid of her, when the body wrapped around him burrows deeper into his chest, moaning his name.

For a brief second, his heart stops. Eyes still closed, he inhales again. It couldn't be _Sarah._ Rationally, logically, this makes no sense. _It's just someone who sounds like her,_ his rational brain supplies.

_Smells like her, feels like her, incites in you the urge to lick every__** inch**__ of her body like her…_his wildest dreams add unhelpfully.

He opens his eyes slowly, not sure what he wants. If it's her and she leaves again…he won't be able to take it again. On the other hand, if it's _not_ her, then he's hoping for nothing and he has a _lot_ of explaining to do.

The vision in front of him is all dark hair and creamy skin, of long, lithe limbs wrapped around his body. _Maybe, maybe she just __**looks **__like Sarah, _he thinks, torn. She shifts again beneath him, rolling over and reminding him of the exact way their bodies mold together. He can see her face now, large green eyes closed in sleep, relaxed and serene. There is no longer even a shadow of a doubt that it is not her.

His hands, of their own accord, run slowly along her body, taking in the soft suppleness of her skin, the beautiful roundness of her breasts, finally coming to a stop on the gentle plains of her smooth back, stroking the skin there.  
_Sarah is in my room. Sarah is in my bed. Sarah is wrapped around me, Sarah…_His brain repeats a track loop. _Sarah, Sarah, SARAH!_

And then suddenly, blindingly, he understands. Their dreams – incredibly powerful apart, absolutely invincible together – have done this. Unconsciously, their dreams have brought them together again, the only way they know how.

_But that would mean…_ It's impossible. But the evidence is staring him in the face, utterly irrefutable. _Sarah wants me. Sarah loves me._ He feels euphoric.

_And Sarah…Sarah has bound herself to me. Irrevocably. Irreversibly. She is mine as the world falls, mine when eternity calls, mine even after we both turn to dust. And I am hers. Forever. _

He could dance and he could sing and he can and will, but not now. He will not wake his sleeping beauty. He lies back and closes his eyes, content to stay in her arms forever.

* * *

Sarah wakes quickly; bolting up right in a bed that's not hers, breaking free of a body that seems to be doing it's best to surround her. Looking around, she sees black sheets strewn about the floor and sunlight flooding in from an open balcony framed by black velvet hangings. The crystals that lie about the room refract the sunlight, sending beams of light arcing sporadically across the room. The small clouds of glitter surrounding them glimmer softly. Candles litter the room, burnt out presumably by the faint wind that's coming off the Labyrinth. There are about twenty seconds that she blinks dazedly at the light, before her attention returns to the body beside her.

She takes in the pale hair strewn messily about the pillows and mixing with her own, the long, lithe limbs wrapped around her.

_It wasn't a dream…oh Gods, I wasn't dreaming. It was real, and he and I actually…_She's panicking now, realizing the full repercussions of her action last night. Then: _what did he do? How did he…this is all his fault._ Human nature kicks in, searching for a place to lay the blame. _Speaking of laying…_she looks down.

By this point, Jareth is fully awake, lying on his back, propped up by his shoulders. He's smiling a smile that, for once, is not sarcastic or mocking, but seems to be genuinely _happy._

"Precious thing," He purrs, going from happy to seductive in three seconds flat, "Were your dreams as sweet as mine?"

She shivers, remembering their dream. The faint glow of his naked flesh in the candlelight will stay with her for the rest of her life. She can still feel his hands on her body, ghosting across her thighs and into her most secret place. And then, mentally, she shakes them off. "What have you done?" she levels at him, sending him a fierce glare.

"Why, nothing, precious thing," he demurs innocently. "In fact, if anyone has _done_ anything, it was you. I have simply been as always." This last is accompanied by a hip thrust that leaves her in no doubt as to what she has _done._

"What are you talking about," she accuses, ignoring the insistent tattoo of _Iwanttorollontopofhimand__**do**__himrightnowandhedoestooandIcan__**feel**__it_ beating relentlessly in her head.

"Simply your dreams, precious." He places a tender kiss at the base of her neck, just where her shoulder and neck joins. She shivers slightly, but otherwise refuses to react, and so he continues talking. "It would seem that they brought us together last night. _And _the night before that. For you see, while_ I_ have no power over you, your _subconscious _does. And that simply begs one question, O precious thing: Why did your subconscious bring you to _me?_" The question is brushed across the rim of her ear like velvet, rolling seductively off his tongue and into her ear. He licks the shell of her ear, nipping gently for good measure.

Sarah is drowning in sensation. His voice, those _lips,_ are driving her to distraction. Then, what he's just said registers with her. "Well that's exactly it Jareth!" She says, attempting to distance herself from him, attempting to regain_ some_ measure of control. "My subconscious _wouldn't_ have brought me to you!"

He's not having any of the distancing thing, and his arms come up to encircle her, pulling her closer than before. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," He purrs into her hair, his hot breath pulsing across the still wet bite from earlier. "I think you're lying. You want to know what I think?" And once more he nips her ear, and then _lingers_ there, softly kissing his way from the back of her ear to the nape of her neck. When he's finished, he says, not moving "I think you _want _me Sarah. In fact, I _know_ you do. And I also know that when I press you down into my bed and proceed to lick every inch of your body, you're going to want me even more."

She's trembling now, hopelessly aroused. She might as well be made of jelly, she can't move. She doesn't even want to move. He's _right_. "And of course, I'm going to," he adds. "We are going to relive last night several times over, precious thing. We're going to do everything I've ever tried, and a few things I've only read about. I have an extensive library, Sarah, and plenty of time on my hands. What say you to this, precious thing?"

The hands are back on her flesh, goose bumps trailing wherever they go. They move slowly, leisurely, along her collarbone, across her shoulders, and down her back, finally caressing the curve of her bottom.

Their breaths have slowed to a crawl now as, heavy-lidded, their eyes meet. The intensity of his eyes thrills her. They are endless, and readily she falls into them, closing the distance between them with her mouth. She feels the kiss all the way down to her toes. Twisted around him as she is, she can feel his reaction; can glory in the fact that he wants her just as much as she wants him.

"Yes," she breathes when they break for air.

"Oh precious," he coos, his voice deep and husky "You're mine. Forever." If she hadn't understood before what she'd done, his words make it clear. She bound herself to him, before the universe itself, and then consummated that bonding with him for all to see. From that moment on, she had lost the ability to stray from him, and he from her. She is his Queen in truth now, though the post has been held for her since Jareth first ever laid eyes on her. There is no taking back what they have done, not anymore. 'You have no power over me,' won't work this time. And she is completely okay with this.

"Yes!" she says, her chest heaving. "Yes Jareth, forever!" She's completely frantic now. His hands delve into the junction of her thighs, but she needs him. Now.

Together, they spend hours loving. They learn every curve and inlet of each others' bodies, and this time, it's even better than in their dreams.

Because it's not one.


	12. As the World Falls Down

**A/N: **Alright, so I actually can't believe I wrote this. My other lemon was rather un-graphic, but this time the M rating is really important, because this _is _graphic. I don't know why, but I seem to be on a smut-fest lately. My last several oneshots were pretty damn sensual, I must say. They take me forever to write and edit and detail, and I've been holding onto this one for (let's see, I had the idea months ago, since I started writing TPOD2, and wrote a skeleton outline about June 12th...I've been feeding it since, and I have to say, this one is pretty fat, so far as my writing goes) maybe two months? Anyways, I'm shooting in the dark with the whole sex thing so I want you guys to let me know if I'm doing a good job. That said, let me know if I'm not, also. Finally, as you guys know, this is a thirteen chapter story. That means that the next chapter is the last. I have two plot ideas i've been sitting on for this one, a serious one (not horrific, but not haha funny) and a not so serious one (the plot itself is a surprise, though, so you guys don't get anymore details unless you ask some good questions in signed reviews), so I need you guys to let me know what YOU would like to see. Now, after this extremely long author's note, read on!**

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**As the World Falls Down**

Sarah Williams wakes one bright autumn morning to dusty clouds that float across endless clear blue skies, crisp air and gorgeously colored leaves drifting lazily past her windows. It's no coincidence that she wakes just as an owl disappears from her window, that her eyes fly open – to reveal large green eyes framed by sooty black lashes – just as the shadows in her room cease to move and chatter to each other. But it is neither of these things that has awoken her.

Her clock – with its radio-alarm – has gone off, softly tinkling the faint strains of a ballad: some soppy love song to fill girls with sighs and empty promises from a King who in reality is cruel and kidnaps little boys.

She hurls her covers off and sits up, stretching long, toned arms above her head, slowly arching her back and pushing her breasts up against the thin fabric of the over-long shirt that serves as her night clothes. This done, she lifts her legs up and over the sheets, lowering dainty feet to softly brush the floor. It is then that she hears _what _song, exactly, is playing.

_There's such a sad love_

_Deep in your eyes, a kind of pale jewel  
__  
_She nearly trips over her own feet in her rush to the clock, in her attempt to turn the blasted thing off. Ever since a certain thirteen hour magical whirlwind and an arrogant, tights-wearing king had jump into her life and flipped her world off it's axis before disappearing, Sarah Williams has been unable to abide that _song_. Unsurprisingly, the clock ignores her attempts to quiet it. She presses the snooze button, the sleep button, and finally unplugs the damn thing. Even then, the song plays on. If anything, it's gotten louder.

_Opened and closed within your eyes _

"Goddamn it Goblin King!" she yells into the silence of her empty room, radio notwithstanding. She knows that wherever he is, he will hear her. "When are you going to stop making me listen to this? Every time I turn on the radio, it comes back. You're killing me here!"

_I'll place the sky within your eyes_

As the song croons on from the radio, his velvety voice purrs into the room, seeming to come from just behind her ear. "_Never,_ precious." Momentarily, invisible gloved hands hold tight to her waist from behind, and his voice is deadly serious. Then it passes, and his disembodies voice continues amusedly "Only tormenting you a bit. I refuse to allow you to forget about me." Once more, he is serious.

"Like I _could!_" She states belligerently, determined to be arguementative. He makes a little humming noise, sounding oddly pleased. Invisible fingers start to run through her hair, picking strands and toying with them idly.__

There's such a fooled heart

Hearing the last line, she snorts and crosses to the windows, throwing them wide and muttering "I'll say," as she goes.

His fingers keep toying with her hair as she moves, never tugging or pulling, but following her motions exactly. She can practically _see_ him rolling his eyes at her words, and feels his sensuous mouth gusting a gentle wind across her ear as he laughs at her silently.

_Beating so fast in search of new dreams  
_  
She turns to face her mirror, surveying herself critically while listening to the song. She really does look _so_ odd with strands of her hair floating in mid-air.

_A love that will last_

At this last, a very un-ladylike snort escapes her. "Yeah right. Like _you_ stayed longer than thirteen seconds."

His reply is swift and exasperated. "Hours precious, hours; and as I recall, it was you who sent me away, with that ridiculous 'you have no power over me' epitaph that you actually seem to _believe,_" he huffs against her ear, and she shivers at the unexpected gust of warm air.

_within your heart _

In the mirror, her hair begins to braid itself as her mouth opens and closes, searching for a decent retort.

_I'll place the moon within your heart_

Finally, she is forced to settle for a half-hearted "'Cause it's true!" Under her breath, she adds "Arrogant, moronically territorial king of evil idiots."

He sniggers quietly in her ear, clearly having heard her insult. "Only for you, precious thing." Demonstratively, his clever fingers fluff her hair and leave it loose, before lowering and caressing her arms in a soft, possessive manner.

Every place he touches her is warm, heated by the feel of his strong arms caressing her. She brushes off the now faintly corporeal hands – determined not to give him a reaction – and throws open her closet door, beginning to assemble an outfit.__

Makes no sense for you

He, however, is relentless, and his hands lift her hair to the side and softly stroke the back of her neck, his lips brushing the curve where it meets her shoulder. Gooseflesh springs to life and her face turns a very interesting shade of pink. She can feel him smile against her shoulder, the grin revealing some _very_ sharp teeth that begin to nibble gently on her. She attempts to distract herself from what he's doing by focusing back on the song.

_Every thrill he's caused_

"There weren't any bloody thrills, unless you count setting the cleaners on me," she grumbles, straightening and trying desperately to reach for her anger, but finding it just out of reach as his clever fingers fondle the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"Oh precious," he coos, relentless in his ministrations "Surely there were _some_?" She feels him lick the shell of her ear, then press his full body against her. Even though at this point he's only _half_ there, she can feel him – God, does she feel him. She can even somewhat see his semi-corporeal arms as they wrap themselves tightly around her waist, then dropping to the hem of her shirt, where they caress the soft, bare skin of her upper thighs. Involuntarily, her back arches; the movement bringing her even closer to the hard length she can feel.

Quickly, as she realizes what she's doing, she dives back into her closet and begins collecting another outfit; completely ignoring the frothy white monstrosity of a dress that has refused to budge from her closet for nearly three years as she does so. He backs off her slightly, but she can still feel his heat at her back. "None at all." She adds ruthlessly as she continues rummaging (not entirely managing to distract herself from the fingers tracing circles on her upper thighs), adding venomously "you may get off on menacing girls, but for me the only thing that's even faintly _thrilling_ about you is your pants."

_Wasn't too much fun at all  
_  
He blows – slowly and deliberately – on the shell of the ear he'd previously licked, and croons "so you _were_ thrilled. Perhaps I could give you a personal demonstration of just how _thrilling_ my pants can be." He accompanies the word with a pull – his hands inexorably drag her thighs backwards into him, her soft, yielding flesh grinding up against his hard, masculine body.

_But I'll be there for you  
_  
If before she was distracted, now Sarah is utterly incapable of coherent thought. She's pressed even tighter to him then before, her body molding into his hard flesh as though it belongs there. A vivid, deliciously clear film reel is playing itself in her head: Jareth – slow seduction and fierce passion mixed into one exasperatingly _amazing_ man – leading her to an enormous bed; fingers and lips exploring secret places, sweaty bodies and entangled limbs shifting deliciously against each other as he proceeds to instruct her on all the_ trills_ he has to offer. It's only his fingers that bring her back to reality – they've slipped far higher on her thighs than she can reasonably ignore, and she brushes them away with a quick, biting "In your dreams, Goblin King."

_As the world falls down_

"And in yours, Precious," he adds quickly, the heat in his voice sending delicious chills down her spine. "In your heated, sweaty, delightfully _adult_ dreams – and of course I'd be only too happy to fulfill them with you." His voice does strange things to the molten need growing inside her – it bubbles, growing as she realizes that the spicy, magical scent she's ensconced in is _his_. Once more, his lips find the curve where her neck and skull merge, and one of his legs come in between hers. It pushes quickly and adamantly against the secret place linking her thighs before withdrawing. Sarah nearly collapses as it leaves her, and for a moment, his hands grip her thighs tightly as they hold her up.

_Falling_

There is silence for a few fleeting seconds as Sarah tries frantically to stand on her own and breath normally, and Jareth develops a new plan of attack.

_(As the world) Falling down  
_  
Finally, he sighs mournfully in her ear.

_Falling in love  
_  
"Doesn't it sound nice, precious?" His voice is wistful, achingly sad – the voice of someone who has seen too much in the course of his life, and aches to go back home. Of course, that _someone's_ home is probably a place with family. _Jareth's_ definition of 'home' happens to be 'pressed as closely into Sarah Williams as is anatomically possible.'

Her voice is acerbic, her tone sharp as she replies: "The only falling I ever did around you was after that thrice accursed ballroom of yours shattered." She can hear the wanting in his voice, the ache that wishes for so much, and thus far has gotten so very little. She forces herself to ignore it. Sarah Williams isn't comfortable enough to admit that her desires very closely mirror the Goblin King's.

"You wound me, precious." His voice is dry, humorous even. His Majesty is, after all, _so _generous. If she's unwilling to admit her feelings, then he won't force her too.

_I'll paint you mornings of gold_

Of course, her feeling's wishes don't extend to her body's wishes.

_I'll spin you Valentine evenings _

"You and your goddamn mornings of gold and Valentine evenings," she mutters, clearly ignoring him despite the fiery breath drafting across the back of her neck and the hands that are still on her thighs, still tracing circles perilously close to the rather damp patch in her underwear.

His voice is mockingly small and injured as he asks "You didn't like them?" He drags his hands up and out of her thighs; they come to rest on the sides of her upper torso, just grazing her generous chest. There are red marks on her thighs – handprints, from when he held her up. He likes the sight of them there, so very close to her core. They mark her, declaring quite adamantly 'this woman is _mine_.' They will fade, but he intends to leave other, more obvious marks to those who would touch her – he shall make sure that he is the _only_ one who ever sees her this exposed. After all, he intends to have her within arms reach for the rest of their lives – never so far that he has to wonder what she's doing, always close enough to press against and get her hot and bothered.

_Though we're strangers till now_

She snorts derisively – ignorant of his possessive thoughts – demanding loudly "Goblin King, we were bloody strangers and you offer _mornings of gold_?" her movements are rapid and jerky as she removes his hands and stalks over to the bed, collapsing on it bonelessly. "Your mind must be completely filthy."

He follows her, his movements languid and graceful, predatory. "Allow me to assure you, precious, that that was not the only thing on my mind," he scowls. What_ is _it about this girl that makes him amorous and desire filled one moment and completely exasperated the next? _Although,_ he reflects, _the desire never really leaves._

He blatantly stares at her, moving his eyes from her long, bare legs to her barely clothed torso – the shirt is riding up, nearly exposing the juncture of her thighs. Its wide neck has slide over one shoulder – revealing as it does so, the several love bites he's left there in the course of the morning – and it is so thin as to be translucent. Her long hair is strewn about her, messily tossed across the rumpled covers from her leap onto the bed. She's turning deeply red from the heat in the gaze he's sending her way, and the rosy flush only emphasizes her state of undress. _For she really is _quite_ desirable,_ he muses. The list of what he wouldn't give to lick every inch of her body is very short indeed.

_We're choosing the path between the stars  
_  
He smirks, and chooses his words very carefully before he purrs "However, should you chose to act upon the more – shall we say…_carnal_ connotations of that phrase," he drops gracefully next to her, slouching elegantly against her pillows and surveying her with a highly predatory gaze "I would me more than happy to indulge you."

She closes her eyes – her face is the color of tomato by now – but says clearly "My point exactly, Jareth."

_I'll leave my love between the stars_

He interweaves a hand in her hair, and it absentmindedly begins to massage her scalp. The fingers cradle the back of her head, gently pressing down in the sensitive places behind her ear, and where her skull and neck meet.

"_Sarah_," he breathes, infinite tenderness in his voice, raw and aching for her.

Sarah has always had an incredibly sensitive scalp, has always been loath to let hairdressers touch it, or to allow anyone but herself to brush the hair on it. The effects his fingers are having on her are tremendous, sending frissons up and down her spine and then he whispers her name in that _voice_ – she opens her eyes and looks at him.

He's fully there now, staring at her with those cat-like, mismatched eyes as he lounges next to her.

"Jareth," she whispers, breathless in the face of his undeniably _male _gaze, turning her shirt transparent. He's looking at her so intently that it almost feels as if he's touching her with his eyes. _There_ – his eyes trace the shell of her ear, kneading the sensitive flesh…and _there_ – his gaze trails down to her breasts, lazily, languorously caressing the peaks before cupping their roundness. And _there_ – his eyes play with her core, slowly teasing in and out, in and out, in and out.

Sarah can't look away from his eyes. Each phantom caress is a promise to her: every place his eyes have wandered, his lips will touch, his fingers will play with.

She's hot all over – secret places she didn't even know existed have sprung to life inside her, burgeoning desire in every cell of her body. The wet place between her thighs is burning her, her breasts feel tight, swollen – _and he hasn't even touched her yet._

As the pain sweeps through

She sits up slowly; kneeling in between his legs, her hands come up to touch his face. Her own is millimeters away.

It's the last straw for Jareth – when her lips tentatively brush his, all rational thought flies from his mind. He jolts into motion, first grabbing her hands, then capturing her body beneath his on her bed, never breaking the kiss as it mutates from the innocent gesture it was to the punishing, sensual one it is. She gasps at the force of it, and his tongue delves into her mouth. Because he simply pushed her back, her legs are bent underneath her at the knee, leaving her wide open to him. Her hands are held above her head by one of his, and the other holds his body off of her, ensuring that she can feel him but not be crushed. She is completely at his mercy. Realizing this, he breaks their kiss gently, lingering near her mouth as they catch their breath. Then, he looks between their bodies.

The sight of her underwear – the last barrier separating them – surrounded by her soft, creamy upper thighs nearly undoes him. He can tell just from looking at the rather large damp patch on them that she is dripping, and it is with difficulty that he restrains himself from taking her then and there. The only thing stopping him is the desire to make this as pleasurable as possible for her.

He nips the shell of her ear, then licks and kisses it before he lowers his head to her chest, tasting her through her t-shirt. Her fingers curl around his as he laves her.

_Makes no sense for you_

_He's not wearing gloves…_ as the thought slowly comes to her distracted, aroused brain, he lets go of her hands – which immediately fist themselves into his hair – and uses his free hand to tear her underwear off before his dexterous fingers delve into her. She mewls at the sudden intrusion into her body, wide eyes meet his exactly – the noise is _so _arousing to him_._

_Every thrill he's caused  
_  
And then he_ is_ playing with her core, his teasing fingers sliding slowly in and out, in and out, in and out. He wants desperately to be inside her; the channel he feels is so wet and tight. But he wants to torture her too. He has waited so long for this, and thus she must wait too. He ignores the painful tightness of his pants and adds another finger.

The friction he is creating with those long fingers of his is marvelous to her – they play with her folds, flicking her gently, driving her insane. "Ja_reth_," she groans, trying desperately to grind down on his fingers; her hands roaming his body, trying to make him feel an _ounce_ of the frustration she feels. And then, she burrows a hand into his pants and grasps him.

"_Precious_," he hisses, looking up at her from his position on her chest, clearly surprised by her boldness.

"Jareth," she murmurs, stroking him lovingly; adoring the way his eyes widen when he's being pleased. She wants this: to be impaled by what she holds in her hand is her greatest wish right now. Their eyes meet: the wordless communication there is something usually reserved for long-married couples; it's crystal clear what they are saying, what they want.

_Wasn't too much fun at all  
_  
He drops another kiss onto her wanting mouth, and with an elegant gesture from the fingers he draws – leisurely and torturously – out of her, all of their remaining clothes are gone. The glitter particles that dot them afterwards shimmer; as he buries himself inside her, they twinkle madly.

A gasp is drawn from the both of them at this action – she is accustoming herself to the way her body is stretched around him, he is reveling in _her_: though he is her first –and is determined to be her only – as he knows from the barrier he quickly broke, she takes him fully, something no other he's been with has had the ability to do. She requires almost no time before she attempts to move; thrusting her hips as far as her position allows, she drops back down gradually, enjoying the way he feels as he comes half out of her, staring at his face the whole time.

She is a goddess, he decides. Her boldness is one of the many things he adores about her, and her experimentation has left him throbbing for more. He swivels his hips and pounds down into her quickly; a moan is drawn from her before she reciprocates in kind.

And then they are pushing themselves together as tightly as possible – her breasts pressing up against his chest, their hips interlocked, mouths smashing together as they battle for dominance – desperately grasping at each other. The glitter on their bodies flickers frantically as they move together – ever quicker – and the room spins dizzily around them. Wind rushes through the open window, bathing sweaty bodies in cool air as they grind ever closer toward completion.

_But I'll be there for you  
_  
He is coming apart at the seams, all the ancient emotion he holds in as king of his moronic subjects crashing around him. She is so wonderfully _tight_. He knows he's close to the edge, and he holds tight to the only stable thing left in his world, the bright, beautiful shining star that is his love; drags a hand in between them to pleasure her further, keeps moving with her…Precious thing, Sarah, _love–_

And she is reveling in the heady swirl of his emotions around her, her own emotions within her – the fire burning ever brighter within her, the spring coiling ever tighter around her center. He fills her completely; his muscle surrounds her. The power emanating from the man riding her body only excites her more. She grasps the most beautiful thing in her world unyieldingly; grinds harder, keeps frantically twisting herself around him…Goblin King, Jareth, _dearest_–

_As the world falls down  
_  
And then the world falls around her, shattering and fragmenting in distorted, mirror-like shards as the glitter shimmers out of existence, everything cracking and breaking and collapsing around them until only thing left is Jareth and that _song_, playing slowly as they move together fervently: caressing, kissing, loving.

_As the world falls down_

_Falling_

_Falling in love_

_(as the world) Falling down_

_Falling_

_Falling in love…_

* * *

**A/N:** As always, reviews are tremendously appreciated. Hope you enjoyed it, and remember to let me know what kind of last chapter you want.


	13. Immortal Beloved

**A/N:** So as many of you doubtless know, this is suppoed to be the last chapter of What Could Have Been. However, I find myself unable to give the drabbles up, and so I plan to write thirty-nine drabbles, and thud hold onto the story a little longer. On a side note, I am aware that it has been AGES since I last wrote anything, and while I know this does not excuse me, it was because my computer crashed (and I did not have any back ups) so I sent it to get repaired (which didn't work) and subsequently bought a new one (did you know they take six weeks to ship?). I am sorry, and I would like to say that I am aiming not to have this happen again. There should be another chapter up within a week, but until then, I hope you enjoy this one.

**Immortal Beloved**

When she came back, the first thing she'd done was hidden the book. She discarded her fantasies, her plays, her dreams: it had become apparent to her that they were endangering her family. So she gave them up, for the sake of all those who would never be safe from the magical world with the comet of dreams that trailed her flashing her existence to the fey – for always, they are drawn to those grounded in the magic as she was.

But even after she left the world of magic behind, it called to her. She had eaten the fruit of the Underground; and by rights it was there she belonged. And so – subtly, silently, in moments when her guard was down – magic began once more to leak out of Sarah Williams.

It began in trickles, thin threads drawing her back to the book where it had all begun. At odd moments, she would find herself thinking of it – of its scuffed, worn red exterior, of the beautiful illuminations drawn within – and wondering what would happen should she open her closet door, reach to the top shelf and unearth it from it's hiding place. Soon, the threads of her imagination trapped her, revealing their sticky, spider-like quality. And so, Sarah Williams was caught in a web of her own weaving, one drawing her irresistibly closer to _that book_. It haunted her mind at every moment, waking and dreaming, the words swimming before her closed eyelids. From the beginning of the tenth day, each night her dreams would show her the book.

On the thirteenth day, she opened her closet and found the book. Placing on her desk in the hopes that she would no longer dream of it, she went to sleep. It doesn't work. The only thing that changes is the direction of her gaze. Upon entering her room, she cannot take her eyes off of it.

Finally, many months later, she could take the burden no longer. Under the cover of darkness, she crept out of her bed, across the moonlight floor of her room, and drew the book down into her lap on the floor. With shaking hands, she reverently opened it. Upon reading the opening words, she was sent into a frenzy, and greedily ate up every word until the end of the book. Her need sated, she began once more at the beginning.

Every time darkness falls, she repeats her strange ritual while the rest of the house slumbers. And each time she sees his name, she lowers her mouth, and kisses the page.


	14. The Mirror of Erised

_With apologies to J K Rowling_

**

* * *

**

The Mirror of Erised

In her dream, Sarah finds herself in a void, lit only by the shaft of light falling on an antique, floor-length mirror. Walking closer, she sees that the ornate gold frame stands on two intricately fashioned clawed feet. The way the light hits, it seems to her as if the fantastical carved beasts vie for position on the gilded frame, and the mercurial silver particles flit across the mirror's surface. At the bottom, there is an inscription:_ Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_. In the depths of her mind, a memory uncurls and flexes. Sarah, still entranced by the dancing surface of the mirror, pays it no mind.

As she comes to a stop in front of the mirror, Sarah sees herself – not as she is now, with her tattered flannel pajamas and green eyes misted from sleep – but clad in a sparkling white dress, her eyes dramatically highlighted by dark liner and her hair pulled back with silver flowers. She blinks – rubbing her eyes – and yet when she opens them again, still in front of her is this ethereal, intimidating persona – of _herself_.

Sarah touches her pant leg, assuring herself that it is still there. In the mirror, the other Sarah strokes the shimmering fabric of her bell-like skirt. Behind her a tall, lithe figure with blond hair standing on end approaches. Regal and heartbreakingly handsome, his mouth moves as though calling to her _– 'Hello precious'_.

_Jareth_.

The memory calls in her mind.

Sarah turns, intent on making sure he isn't behind her. There is no one there. In the mirror, the Sarah-who-is-not turns too, greeting him with a heated kiss. Jareth wraps his arms around her and they both turn back to face Sarah as she turns back to the mirror. As if he truly is holding her, Sarah's every nerve ending is on fire.

More insistently, the memory beckons, demanding to be heard.

Jareth pets her doppelganger's hair, whispering in her ear. It must be entirely inappropriate – _just like him!_ – because in the mirror the Sarah-who-is-not blushes a dark cherry. His hands move on her abdomen, stroking her sides lovingly. The true Sarah gasps – as does Mirror Sarah – and both swat his hands away. They come to rest gently, possessively on not-Sarah's hips, the warm weight settling on true Sarah's hips.

In this one instant, the twin Sarahs differ. Not-Sarah winks through the mirror and turns her head, her body twisting sinuously sideways to kiss Jareth deeply. True Sarah simply gapes. She does not understand what she is seeing, refuses to comprehend the affection she looks on.

The memory keens in the back of her mind, crying for an audience.

Paralyzed and unsure, Sarah bangs on the mirror, as though by doing so she could cause the vision before her to cease. Jareth in the mirror breaks his kiss, looks directly at True Sarah, and produces a crystal. Sarah backs up, suddenly breathless, gasping for air. Not-Sarah turns from Jareth and faces the mirror dead on, gasping for an entirely different reason. With both hands, Jareth raises the crystal to mirror-Sarah's head. There, it morphs into a stunning, glimmering crown of glass, the razor-sharp edges of which curve gracefully upwards, refracting the sparse light of the void. It is at once beautiful and deadly, so bright that it hurts Sarah's eyes to look at. Reverently, Jareth places the delicate crown on her head. True Sarah feels its weight settle around her temples.

The elusive memory cries out, willing itself to be heard.

Looking into True Sarah's eyes, he drops a gentle kiss on the top of not-Sarah's head. That one touch shoots down True Sarah's spine, melting her legs. She reaches for him, instinctive need overpowering her reasoning. Her fingertips brush the mirror. She has just enough time to register that her doppelganger has reached out too – her expression for once mirroring Sarah's as she gazes at a point just above true Sarah's head, enraptured – before she collapses.

Sarah wakes, startled and off-center, to her copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, open to the page she was reading before she fell asleep. 'It shows us nothing less and nothing more than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts,' she reads.

Closing her eyes, she murmurs something that sounds vaguely like 'No power over me. Absolutely_ none_,' before shutting the book and turning off her lights.


End file.
